Like Grits

"I'll have a coffee," said Joseph as he looked to his son; "And he'll have a ... Victor, what do you want?" not knowing what to order his own kid to drink for brunch.

"I'll have an OJ."

"Do you want a large or medium, sweetie?" asked their waitress.

On the rare occasions that he and his mom went out to eat, Victor made sure he did not order extravagant dishes or large sizes, so as to save his mom money. But he figured his dad could afford more, so he said, "A large OJ, please."

Mary returned with a cup of coffee and a glass of orange juice, telling them, "I'll give you boys a moment to look over the menu, and I'll be back to take your order."

Joseph decided on the #1, two eggs (over easy), two pieces of bacon and hash brown potatoes.

Victor wondered if he had the verve to order from the more expensive end of the menu or follow his dad's lead and get something from the less expensive 'Breakfast Special' column. He sipped his OJ and sensed that Mary was about to return to take his order and he didn't want to appear to be indecisive to Mary or his dad. He quickly made up his mind to get the tall stack of hotcakes with a side of bacon, even if it was a few dollars more than his dad's order.

Mary returned to the table and Victor was relieved that he was ready with his order. Victor ordered first. Mary wrote down his request, affirming his choice by saying without looking at him, "That's a good choice for a strapping young man like yourself."

Then, turning her gaze to his dad, "What's it goin' to be for you hun?" Victor enjoyed the casual affection Mary tossed about their table as he felt his appetite growing.

When Mary slung their two plates onto the table, there were the hotcakes for Victor and the plate of eggs, bacon and hash browns which Joseph had ordered as well as a bowl of buttered grits next to each plate. Their waitress bid them, "Enjoy!" and turned to attend to the next table.

Joseph looked up and said, "Excuse me," getting Mary to turn back to the table. "I didn't order grits, and neither did my son." Mary threw up her hands, with the palms facing out as if she were describing the size of a large fish that got away, "Hun, you don't order grits -- they just come."

"Well, are we going to be charged for these items?"

"'Course not hun. Gracie just serves grits 'cause most people like 'em, - or at least they don't object. That's just the way Gracie runs her business."

Joseph was about to voice his objection to being given something at no cost that he did not ask for, but Victor sighed and slumped into his seat cushion; a cue which his dad picked up on. Joseph decided to drop the request to have the offending grits removed from the table. With a resigned, "OK", he dismissed the waitress to go serve her other customers.

"Dad, can't you just accept that sometimes people are nice and want to do good things?"

"I could. But giving me grits I did not ask for seemed like a mistake and I thought she should know. I don't want these grits. It's a waste of resources. That's all."

As Mary cleared their empty plates off the table, Joseph put the change from the twenty back into his wallet, leaving a tip on the table that was calculated to account for the "free" grits, which he assumed the cost of which were secretly slipped into his tab. He was not to be manipulated like that. Especially by some dubious line like, "That's just the way Gracie runs her business" -- who runs a business by giving stuff away? Idiots, that's who.

Back in the Jeep, they followed the river valley upstream until they came to the turnoff for Moses Creek Wilderness Area and State Park Campground. The pavement ended after about three miles and became a well packed gravel road coiled with numerous switchbacks as it sprung up and over the rising cliff facing the river. Just as quickly as the road had risen to the top of the precipice, it just as quickly descended into a narrow gorge where the road was chiseled into a natural bench beneath the steep and stoic limestone face above the Moses Creek. The creek squeezed its way between the narrow shoulders of the outcrops on its course down to the river plain from which Victor and his dad had just come.

Joseph figured there wouldn't be much on-coming traffic on this one-and-a-half lane road, at its widest; so he enjoyed downshifting and throwing his Jeep around the curves as he made his way toward the canyon's headwaters. A few miles further, the road had fought its way up the narrowing gorge about as far as it could go, and there the road forked. Straight ahead pointed toward the vehicle campground, for trailers and such; left, across the narrow bridge a sign directed travelers to the primitive campsites, reserved for those using only tents and no electricity.

Joseph felt himself a purist when it came to the outdoors and liked the idea of sleeping on the ground, otherwise it really wasn't camping if you had powered, modern conveniences and bunks and a kitchen. "Victor, it looks like this old iron bridge will separate us real outdoorsmen from those pretenders. We'll set up our camp with a tent in one of these primitive sites on the far side of the creek. We'll be right in nature's bosom, away from disruptive appliances and the annoyances of home hauled in by these 'travel trailer trash' folks. We will experience the full natural experience, unlike these plastic-wrapped softies who come all this way, only to insulate themselves from the very reason they camp here in the first place. Fools and idiots in my opinion."

They crept over the narrow bridge, an iron web suspended over limestone columns, the handiwork of the CCC dating back to the 1930's. They coasted about three-quarters of a mile up the road until they came to the point where the rock cliffs grudging let Moses Creek flow down and through, but forbid any further passage upstream. Looking across the creek and upstream about a hundred yards they could see that the trailer campsites were nearly all occupied on the south side of Moses Creek Canyon. They looked to be the first ones to claim a primitive site on the north side of the canyon. "End of the road son! It looks like we might get a piece of natural peace all to ourselves. Just the way I like it."

"Victor, your choice, which site do you want to be our home for the next three days and two nights?" Victor looked over the options and pointed to a camp spot tucked at the base of a rock cleft with a table and fire ring on a narrow sandy ledge lined with lush green ferns just above the creek.

"Excellent choice," affirmed his dad as he pulled the vehicle over into a wide spot on top of the rock ledge and parked. "I'll need your assistance partner to help carry our gear down those rock steps to set up camp on the sandbank. Victor, you grab the ground cloth and a hammer, I'll haul down our tent. Once we've pitched the tent, we can then bring down the firewood I packed. I'll show you how to set up the kindling and logs so we will be ready to get a fire going later. We'll cook over the embers for a tasty meal later this evening."

Once their sleeping bags were unrolled inside the tent and the firewood stacked and ready to light inside the fire ring, Victor's dad proclaimed, "Victor you've built a fine, Grade-A campsite," slapping his son on the back. "Now, let's go exploring on foot."

Father and son walked back down the dirt road paralleling Moses Creek, crossed over the old iron bridge and found the trailhead for the loop tail that took them above the trailer sites to the top of the hill. They rested on the summit enjoying the view. Victor's dad began pointing out plants and habitats. Looking west, Victor pointed out the dark and deep cool colors of blue, dark gray and a murky greenish gray in the sky, asking his dad, "Do you think that weather is coming our way? It looks meaner than when we started out this morning."

Joseph paused, picked some grass blades and dropped them into the steady wind, "The force of this wind makes me think there is a decent low pressure system developing, but I think any inclement weather will pass north of us tonight. But the wind is pretty strong up here, let's go back down into the canyon to get out of this stiff breeze. I'm ready to get our caveman dinner started over an open flame."

As the two crossed back over the iron bridge and approached their campsite, Joseph was pleased to see that no other people had set up camp on their side of the creek. "Good," Joseph said to himself, "we will be all alone over here tonight."

The kindling was set ablaze in the fire ring. Cooking utensils and food set aside, waiting for the wood to burn down into a glowing bed of coals, ideal to cook their supper.

Joseph looked up at the darkening early twilight sky, with its low clouds being pushed hard by the winds. "Victor, I enjoyed that little hike this afternoon. This canyon is a nice place to be out of the wind for now. I think this spring storm front will move past of us tonight, and it should be a good day tomorrow for more exploration." He paused to take in the woods surrounding their camp, "For now, let's just enjoy the melody of the waters, the shelter from the wind storm above and have a good time by the fire before we turn in early. We'll be up and at 'em come first light."

"That sounds alright with me," Victor replied as they settled into intermittent conversation as Joseph attended to the camp cooking, allowing Victor to prod the flaming logs with a stick he had chosen from the kindling pile. The sun had slipped out of the canyon by mid-afternoon, coaxing long shadows to stretch from the cloaking forest and steep slopes, shrouding their campsite in cold shadow.

Joseph's plan to study the night sky and talk of the universe and other big ideas was dashed by the moody cloud cover that never lifted as he had expected. A vaporous chill coming with the deep shadows made it difficult to extract pleasant warmth from the fire. Joseph suggested they prepare for bed and be ready for an active day in the morning. To Victor, it again seemed like a good idea. After dousing the fire, they each grabbed their flashlights and crawled into their sleeping bags, sharing a few stories before becoming silent.

Lying in the darkness within the tent, Joseph reminded Victor to listen to the breathing of the canyon and the mountain behind them, telling him there is not a better or more soothing way to fall into sleep.

Victor was not exactly sure what the 'breathing of the canyon and the mountain' should sound like or how to recognize it even if he did hear it as he was instructed. But he thought he would give it a try anyway. As Victor meditated on his dad's words about 'listening to the breath' of geomorphological features, he thought that his dad probably had some great passions, but it was often hard for most ordinary people to understand or relate to his dad -- maybe that is why his mom had to go back to a world she could share with others and be understood. Victor lay with his thoughts while listening for the breathing of the rocks, trees and water, contemplating his dad's final words for the night; when his dad broke the silence in a soft voice with a far off tone.

"Victor, you know I love being out here with you. You know I love listening to sounds of the critters and the wind in the trees and the water splashing against the stones in the creek bed -- but, sometimes I miss the sound of your mother breathing as she lay sleeping next to me. I thought you might like to know that. Good night son."

Victor was strangely warmed to hear those words from his dad, but he did not know what to say, so he said nothing. A small grin spread across his face. As he closed his eyes, there was a distant break of faint light, an almost imperceptible flash penetrating the nylon of their tent, pitched deep in the canyon. There was no thunder, there was no rain; just the wind making the trees breathe in a hoarse whisper as he fell into soothing sleep.

+++

Joseph awoke with an intense panic -- was he having a bad dream? He was confused. He bolted into a startled sitting position. Was this real? He was cold. More than that, he was cold and wet. His first muddled thought was that he was in graduate school and was in a carnival accident. No, that was not right. His mind was confused. Was it a nightmare?

He did not know in the first instance where he was or what was happening. Why was he camping in the middle of the river? -- that wasn't very smart! Joseph felt water up to his elbows and he began furiously kicking the sleeping bag encasing his legs in a wet, heavy trap. He was pinned. He was going to drown! He bellowed, "Victor! Victor! Are you alright?"

Victor was thrashing in his own bag and blankets, "Dad, what's happening?" he screamed. "Where are we? I am all wet! Everything is wet, did we spring a leak?"

"Victor, get out of here! We gotta get out of this tent; I think the creek is flash flooding. Are you there? Are you OK? I can't see you."

"Dad! Dad!" Victor screamed, "My side is falling down! I feel the tent moving! We're sinking! I can't get out. Where's the door?"

Joseph disentangled himself from his sodden bag, plunging his hand into the rising water flowing into their tent. He found the door flap zipper. He yanked it up about a foot when it jammed. "Damn! Shit! Oh fuckin' hell!"

In a swift motion he ripped the flap open with both hands, scrambling out on his knees as the flood waters pushed a growing current into his chest making it hard to hold his position even on all fours. Reaching back into the now collapsed nylon shelter he jabbed in the dark waters, desperate to grab his trapped son. "Victor, hold on! I'll pull you out into the open. Victor! Grab my hand so I can pull you out -- grab my hand! I'm right here!"

Victor kicked and flailed at the soaked blankets, heavy tentacles tangling his legs, making it hard to right his senses in the confusion. He cried out in fearful desperation, groping in the chaotic darkness for his father. Victor found his dad's finger, seized it with one hand, rolling his shoulders to latch on with his other hand, his face went under the swirling flood as he snapped his other hand around his dad's wrist.

Joseph tugged, hauling his son out of the collapsed tent, a death shroud that was swept under the killing chaos a second later. Mud, sand, rolling cobbles and sticks were hurled down the angry streambed. Father and son struggled to stand, straining to move toward the stairs carved in the rock face. The pair stood with arms entwined around waists and shoulders, bracing against the current. A cold, waist-deep slurry sucked at their legs, forcing them to use short, labored steps to cross a treacherous substrate of shifting muck. Joseph's small steps were intentional, straining to find balance as he clung to his son. Their lives depended upon being able to reach and climb to what safety might be found on higher ground atop the rock ledge above their campsite.

The muffled chatter of large stones being forced down the canyon was heard under the inky flood waters rising in the cold darkness. Debris of sticks and branches knocked against their bodies, making walking against the current difficult. The stream bottom was like riding a slippery, shifting serpent, changing with each step they attempted. Joseph wrapped his right arm around Victor's back and under his right shoulder; together they stumbled and slipped as the force of the flood pushed them downstream along the steep rock ledge, away from the stairs that led to higher ground.

Joseph reached out with his left hand to the rock face, digging his fingers into a fracture, gripping for tenuous support. Being pinned against the rock wall was a death sentence. Joseph knew the time to save Victor and himself was being swept away, they'd faced certain drowning in minutes, maybe seconds.

He held Victor and moved along the wall, with each small, unsteady step he feared they would both be swept under and drowned. Bracing against the on-rushing flood, the frigid current pummeled their numb legs with stones. Inching along the natural rock wall, Joseph managed to reach the carved corner where the steps had been hewn into the rock. His thought was to bring Victor across his body so his son could mount the steps and climb out first. These steps at the back of camp were the only hope of escape.

The waters were up to Victor's chin and he was sputtering and coughing with a face full of gritty, sediment fouled water. Joseph knew he had to push Victor around the corner of the outcrop and onto the steps. He needed to use both of his arms to save his son. He planted his feet, locked his legs to steady himself, then released his finger hold in the rockface and swung around to grab Victor with both arms.

A half-moment after releasing his hold on his frightened son, a large, uprooted tree crashed through the darkness, carried by the onslaught, it slammed into the two semi-submerged figures at the torrent's edge.

In an instant, Joseph lost hold of his son. Victor was ripped from his grasp and sucked into the maelstrom of darkness and debris.

Victor, with a mouth full of muddy water did not scream but called in a panicked voice to his dad. All that Joseph could hear over the tumult of the violent waters was, "Dad! Dad! I can't hold..."

Victor was lost.

Joseph yelled, expending all of the breath he was saving in his lungs to fight the flood, "No! No! No! No! No! No!" The spent air in his lungs was replaced by a burning anguish which pierced his heart with a hot spike. A cruel hook ripped at his guts as his son was swallowed by the treacherous tide.

With a fury from an unknown origin, he swung both arms into the thundering murk and forced himself, part swimmer, part striding creature and whole parent blind with panic and dread. Joseph was a hollow form with chaotic grief rattling inside of him.

He had nothing but angry panic and he used it to fight the raging onslaught that had just taken his son. He wrapped himself around the outcrop's edge that marked the steps up the rock ledge and heaved himself out of the clutches of the hissing liquid serpent trying to swallow him alive.

Joseph was alive, but dead to his senses. He was a victim, flooded with crushing sorrows and swept out of his mind on a tide of deep, stupefied disbelief.

Joseph crumpled, an exhausted heap on the bank of Moses Creek. He was stunned. He was empty. He was dazed. He didn't know what to do. An urge to throw himself back into the roiling creek echoed in his tattered mind. He had to save his boy.

He would have jumped back in, except his mind was disconnected from his body. At that moment his existence made no sense. To lose his existence would be no loss at all. All he could see, hear and feel was confusion. There was nothing to lose. There was nothing to gain. Joseph couldn't move and he couldn't do a thing.

Maybe he wanted to run alongside the surging water. He had no idea what good any of that would do. He was just numb as he sat in the faint gray light of the coming gray day. Joseph's mind and body were washed over by a heavy black so dark that it obliterated all coherent thought. Joseph was left alone to sink into the cold, dark living grave. He was too enmeshed in darkness to grieve or think. All he could feel was the touch of nothing.

In the low light he watched as a pickup truck from the camp up the creek tumbled down the flooded canyon along with some uprooted trees. It got hung up on a boulder right in front of him, and just before a wall of water built up behind it and pushed it further downstream, he saw a young girl in her pajamas wedged between the steering wheel and windshield inside the flooded passenger compartment. She had drowned.

A small aluminum trailer washed into view with a scraping sound, bobbing in the middle of the churning waters until it hooked onto a submerged obstacle. A woman stood in shock, looking out the trailer's screen door, eddies swirling around her knees. She looked at Joseph. She asked in a very polite way, "Please help, my husband..."